


You Could Have Told Me

by Sleepless_Malice



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [9]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Inspired by Art, M/M, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: In which Mairon fantasizes about the fána Melkor once wore and Melkor knows more than Mairon suspects.





	You Could Have Told Me

**Author's Note:**

> So I absolutely blame this on this art: http://an-radish.tumblr.com/post/179685700609/angbang-only-mairon-nsfw-size-kink and a comment below said art.   
> I got terribly inspired.

Often had Mairon thought about the physical form Melkor had taken the day when he was brought into the circle of the Máhanaxar to be judged and sentenced for his evils, and all too often such thoughts had led to fantasies Mairon kept dearly to himself and the darkness of the night. It was not so that Mairon did not appreciate the way Melkor usually looked like – not at all.

He admired – and desired him; the way his tongue felt against Melkor’s throat, the way he felt when Melkor was inside him.

And yet – Mairon could not rid himself of how it would feel like if Melkor chose the fána he had not worn ever after.

*

Surrounded by flickering candles, Mairon sat or rather lounged at one end of the long table idly pushing his food from one corner of the plate to the other. He had no appetite, at least not for food. Of late he almost never had, thoughts occupied with strategies and scientific questions – or different matters entirely.

His eyes flew open the moment Melkor strode through the door, the stone crunching under his heavy boots. He was clad in dark leather as if he just came back from the hunt, though he did not reek of it and for that Mairon was thankful.  

Standing on the other end of the table with hands placed flat on the table Melkor said, “It has come to my attention that of late your creative energy has gone astray.”

Tilting his head to the side, Mairon eyed Melkor carefully and for the first time tonight the fork found its way to Mairon mouth. It bought him time if nothing else. “I do not know what you are speaking of,” he answered then.

“No?”

Perhaps he would get away with his lie, Mairon thought, although he had little hopes. “No.”

“Good.” Finally, Melkor took his seat and for a moment, Mairon was startled. He had not truly expected that Melkor let the matter rest. But then, he noticed the way Melkor sat and how he regarded him with a certain hunger and excitement flittered through Mairon’s mind.

“Come here.”

Mairon went, without hesitation.

They did not wait. Mairon was half pushed and half pulled into Melkor’s lap, and not a moment later Melkor’s hands grabbed hold of his arse, quite ungently so but Mairon was past caring. Lips glued to Melkor’s skin he did not care for the unaesthetic way of trying to discard his clothes nor Melkor’s impatient fumbling to loosen him. Melkor’s hands were rough and hot on him, his lips demanding, devouring, and Mairon could not help the sharp intake of breath when he felt the tip of Melkor’s cock against his hole.

Firm hands gripped his hips and in all his excitement he allowed it, when usually he muttered his protest. “Master,” he whispered then, and whimpered, feeling the raw burn of the initial breach “Melkor, please,” the moment Melkor pushed deep inside him. Patience had never been Melkor’s virtue.

Soft breath brushed against Mairon’s ear. “Curious – is that not what you were?”

 _‘I always am.’_  Mairon did not answer.

Whimpers turned into sobs, then cries and although he had perfectly heard what Melkor had said he only now truly understood.

The cock inside of him grew – and grew still just as Melkor’s entire body was growing. Mairon’s mind went blank so shocked he was, words of protest stuck in his throat. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t speak, he could only feel, fighting against the ever-growing discomfort and against his sobs when his darkest fantasies became reality in a way, not even he had ever dared to imagine it.

The pain Mairon felt was sharp and defined, burned into his mind forever. “Did you truly think I would never find your stash of lifeless objects?”

Gentle fingertips, so highly contrasting to everything else Mairon felt, brushed against his cheek.

Caressing.  _Loving._ And with a smile, he leaned in.

“Did you truly think I would not recognize them for what they are?”

Had he? Perhaps indeed he had in his excited foolishness. “No.”

A laugh rumbled through the hall. “Then why did you hide them in the first place?”

Mairon’s voice wavered. “Master please.” By then, Melkor had reached twice his usual size. It was the strange, shattering feeling of too much at once, the rough grip of hands and the fullness of Melkor’s cock inside of him.

Melkor hummed, certainly watching how Mairon desperately struggled to keep his composure – and failed the moment Melkor started to rock, not quite thrusting, but enough movement to make Mairon choke on a scream. Slow. So deliberately slow as if to make a point, Melkor began thrusting, as if to force Mairon to relish the stretch each movement brought. Despite the discomfort, there was sweetness to it, highlighted by the filthy and obscene sounds Melkor made. They were addictive.

Incoherency bubbled forth from Mairon’s mouth and if asked later, he could not tell if he was swearing or begging, for more or for mercy – or both at once.

It didn’t feel as if Melkor fucked him; it was if Melkor masturbated with his body and despite the pain Mairon still felt, pleasure build and build and was never stopping, getting to a point where it was almost was overwhelming in its intensity and composure was long forgotten. Messy and sobbing noises tumbled from Mairon’s lips, not really words nor soft gasps but filthy grunts that were so unlike him, and meant everything but stop.

It was intense and incredibly beautiful, so much better than his clumsy experiments with those lifeless replicas he had forged and he’d give the world to see himself like this. Debauched. Depraved. A thrall to his master’s desires. 

“Oh Mairon.”

Mairon’s response was an elongated moan, a vocal invitation for Melkor to take his cock in hand. He stroked hard and fast, matching the rhythm in which he fucked, never faltering, never swaying until Mairon’s entire body jerked and he came.

*

When at last he recovered, sweat covered Mairon’s face and seed his stomach, and surely he would be sore, incredibly sore once morning came. “You know you could have  _simply_  told me,” he heard Melkor say before lips sealed his own. 


End file.
